


Drag Your Heart Up (I’m Not Scared)

by sweetiejelly



Category: As the World Turns
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future!fic. They throw up their hearts like paper kites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drag Your Heart Up (I’m Not Scared)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moongirl24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moongirl24/gifts).



> Written for moongirl24's birthday. Happy birthday, Lene! Saw your post of love for Keane's _Strangeland_ album, so stole some lyrics (from _The Starting Line_ and _Silenced By The Night_ ) for this ficlet. Hope it's okay. <3
> 
> Cross-posted to [LJ](http://sweetiejelly.livejournal.com/170540.html).

Luke taps his thumbs against the wheel. The night has repainted his hands, the dashboard, the distance between his legs and Noah’s in stark contrast – lightest light and darkest dark. They haven’t talked. Not really. They’ve been silenced by the night, the steady turns of wheels over smooth concrete.

They’re out for milk. That’s the excuse. (The opportunity.) Anyway, they had both jumped to volunteer. Never mind that Emma stared right at them, subtle as her spatulas. Never mind that Holden and Lily turned their heads in unison, eyes warped with smiles. Luke needed the air. Noah even more so.

It’s this town. It’s this farm. It’s the way Luke’s hair still falls into his eyes (and how Noah’s hands itch to touch). It’s the way they both still remember, looking at the kitchen island, how they surfaced there once, struggling to breathe and afraid to love.

They’re a bit further along now. They’re almost to the store.

Luke cuts the engine and silence blooms, sudden, looming. It drives Noah forward. (His heart’s been on a forward slide towards Luke’s all this time. Since the first day they met really, if he’s honest.) Noah’s hand falls, warm over the back of Luke’s. “Luke, I –” His throat works, a nervous tic. “I missed you.”

It sounds weak, a paper heart suspended in the air, waiting to be shot through, waiting to be snatched up.

Luke turns his palm up. Then they’re holding on tight, fingers indenting skin. “I missed you more.”

And Noah feels the sudden hitch of his heart, how it drags itself up all hopes. “Not possible.” But he’s smiling, and their knees are touching. 

The space between them folds and folds and folds. 

Until by some origami magic they’re wrapped around each other, making the shape of one. Luke breathes into the kiss, so familiar and yet brand new. (He _really_ enjoys this scruffier Noah.) 

But it’s the hug afterward that really gets to him. It feels safe here. It always has. 

“So… two percent? Whole? Soy? What are we supposed to get again?”

Noah laughs, because this is so Luke. Luke always had the words. “I _think_ I heard two percent.”

Luke plays with Noah’s fingers, which are long and lean like the rest of him. “Noah,” he blurts, offering up his heart in its paper tremble. “I’m in a hundred percent. I need you to know that.”

There’s no doubt what Luke is offering. Not with that look in his eyes, so much like that first summer when possibility fluttered around them like fireflies. Noah kisses him hard, kind of breathlessly perfectly messy. “Same here,” he says on exhale.

They still have milk to buy, more words to say. But for the moment holding hands under parking lot lights, they feel new and brave, like they’re standing on the starting line.

“Let’s go.”


End file.
